Swept Away
by Egyptian Dreamer
Summary: The battle is lost. To ensure his victory, Voldemort strikes a deal with the Light. He takes an Oath that no one shall die in this new kingdom of his, unless they rebel . In return, he asks for two things. The people's submission and that of their Savior.
1. Chapter 1

**So, everyone, this takes place after the Final Battle!**

**I have to warn you about certain changes though; Sirius, Lupin, Snape and Fred never died. Dumbledore did however. Heh, sorry to all those Dumbledore fans out there. ;)**

**Enjoy the story!**

***Swept Away***

It was all over. The battle, even the war… Wizarding Britain had fallen under the Dark Lord's ruthless hand. A new reign had now begun… a reign of darkness that would swallow the rest of the Wizarding world into its abyss.

Everything had gone crumbling down in one single evening.

It was horrifying how many things were lost in just one day. Lives, freedom… hope.

Harry had thought that the Hallows would be their trump card. He had thought that after destroying the Horcruxes, after destroying Voldemort's only chance of survival, the Hallows would allow them to deliver the finishing blow. He had been shocked when he learnt that he was the true master of the Elder Wand, but then his shock had dissolved into a sort of giddy feeling. That would be his chance to finish off his arch-nemesis for good!

…How naive he had been.

Snape's move to provide him with his own memories should have appeared suspicious to him, especially after what the traitor did to Dumbledore. But he had been too hopeful that the man might had felt guilty for his action and wanted to redeem himself by helping the Light win.

But with that vile of memories, Lord Voldemort's victory had been ensured.

Snape played out his part quite well, not even Dumbledore himself had been able to distinguish the man's true allegiances, something that had cost him very dearly.

For some reason though, Snape never revealed the truth to his master. He kept the knowledge to himself, guarded tightly in the deepest corner of his mind with the strongest Occlumency shields he could muster. It was not out of betrayal though. It had simply not been his place nor the time to let his master know about that little piece of information.

It would become too much of a distraction, and they needed to focus solely on the upcoming war.

But now that the battle had risen to its fullest, Snape had obviously decided that it would be best suited for Harry himself to reveal the facts to the Dark Lord. He had sworn protection for the boy, and the brat would surely be more than protected once this particular information leaked out.

And that's where the vial of memories came into place. What better way to show the boy the truth than by the means of a pensieve?

A truth that would shock the boy down to his very core.

And a truth that would shatter Harry's foolish dreams to smithereens. How could he have thought that the Hallows would provide him with this final chance at victory? In the end, he never even got the opportunity to claim them, and not that they were of any importance anymore.

Voldemort had won without even using the Elder Wand.

And Dumbledore had, in a way, provided the perfect means for his victory. He had simply turned Harry into the ultimate weapon for that.

But Harry had been too optimistic.

Perhaps, if he hadn't been so accepting and so apathetic for his own fate if it meant ensuring that of others, then everything might have turned out differently. If Voldemort had witnessed the fear he had been expecting instead of the resolution that glowed in Harry's eyes, he might hadn't decided in the spur of the moment to glimpse into the boy's mind for the source of that fierce emotion.

And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have discovered the one thing that Harry refused to acknowledge himself.

But when had fate been on Harry Potter's side?

More shocked than Harry had ever imagined the man to be, Voldemort failed to pour all of his focus into the situation at hand, and the boy had managed to escape. He had to go back to the castle, inform everyone about the new turn of invents and persuade them that there was no way out of this than by killing him. Voldemort would then be left completely vulnerable without his last Horcrux.

Nagini could be dealt with later. He was the main obstacle. Voldemort would never kill him now that he knew the truth of what really happened that fateful Halloween night sixteen years ago.

They had to work together into making Voldemort somehow still aim his wand at Harry with the full intention of killing him. That was the only way for the Horcrux to be destroyed.

He had even persuaded himself that he could manage to talk Sirius and Remus into it, bringing up some kind of excuse about his parents' death, how it would all be in vain. But it turned out that he never got the chance to do so.

The moment he stepped into the Great Hall, corpses and blood from those injured piling up in the once warm and welcoming hall, he had instantly fallen to his knees. And for the looks on everyone's faces, they could hear it too. That chilling, cursed voice that would seal their demise.

All hope had been lost right then and there; Harry could no longer bring himself to struggle after those words kept echoing off in the walls around them.

It was over.

***)&(***

One week later, Harry found himself sitting on the couch of the Gryffindor common room, the fire that was blazing in the fireplace the sole focus of his attention. Even one glance around would be too painful, especially when he knew that he would never be coming back.

The portrait hole suddenly sprung to life, revealing a boy with platinum-blond hair. Harry couldn't suppress the bitter curl of his lips, a chuckle rising from his throat as he stood up.

"I figured he would be sending one of his own." the raven haired teen said once he had approached the boy, emerald green colliding with silver grey. At last, the former broke the contact, a sigh passing through his lips, "I'm thankful it was a familiar face, at least. How kind and so unlike him."

"I never thought I would live to see the day that you would be happy to see me, Potter." Draco remarked, his characteristic smirk claiming its rightful place on his face.

Harry couldn't fail to frown at this. "And I never thought you'd be making it out of the war alive. I guess its wonder day for the both of us." And before Draco could retort with another of his smartass comments, Harry had swept past him.

But he had to actually pause again once he caught sight of the figure waiting for them on the top of the stairs, her enthralling presence catching him off guard. She was dressed in a beautiful, silk black dress for the occasion, probably of some famous designer among the nobility, her hair cascading in a river of golden curls down her shoulders.

"I admit that your color of choice has me jealous, Mrs. Malfoy. I would have picked it myself if I actually had been given a choice in the matter." Draco having caught up with him, they walked over to the witch together, descending down the Spiral Staircase without halting. She was there after all as a guard, not an escort.

"Black, Mr. Potter? Surely scarlet would be more to your liking." Narcissa replied as they made their way down, her gentle voice surprising Harry since he had never heard her speak before.

They had been too preoccupied with thinking up spells at Malfoy Manor for him to focus on a mere voice. But he would be lying if he said that it wasn't pleasant. At least much more soothing than the screeches of her sister.

"Yes, red would actually be my second choice. I believe that black would be indeed more fitting for the event." He didn't have to look over his shoulder to know that the woman had probably raised an eyebrow, "He may think it otherwise, but in my opinion, it's a funeral we're going to attend. What better color than black?"

Silence took over after his words, but he did caught sight of the scowl on Draco's features, not that he commented upon it though.

He took his time to observe their surroundings, basking in the warmth and comfort the castle was yet emitting. The tender emotions that rose up in his chest were inevitable. He really did love this place dearly. There was now not a single corridor, secret passage or abandoned classroom that Harry didn't know by heart. Especially now that everything was back into place. The Death Eaters, under their Lord's command, had repaired every single thing that had been destroyed during the collision of the two forces.

Harry somehow knew that Voldemort didn't need any actual motivation for this. It had become obvious to him that he wasn't the only one with tender feelings for the castle.

And apparently Hogwarts was feeling the same way. During this one week that he had been isolated inside the castle, he would always feel a peculiar kind of pleasure radiating off the walls. Whatever he touched, whether it was the chilling glass or a plain wooden table, it would instantly become warm under his touch, making his hand tingle pleasantly.

But it seemed that it wasn't just him. The one time that Voldemort had come into the school during the week, Harry had gotten the impression that the magic all around the castle was in fact humming.

He would never understand how Hogwarts could still be treating the darkest wizard of all so highly, but it probably just showed that no child of the castle's would ever be treated differently, and especially not two of the descendants of the people that had founded it.

"You don't have to agree to this." The whispered words weren't what shocked Harry the most, no; it was the nearly desperate tone with which they were muttered.

He gave what hopped to look like an indifferent shrug of the shoulders, "Whatever for? It was never my choice anyway."

They had reached the Entrance Hall by now and were making their way over to the massive, double doors that shielded them from glimpsing the world outside of this castle. In the past week, the doors had always been locked and no matter how hard Harry had tried he never seemed to get them to open. But he knew for certain that Hogwarts had nothing to do in this, it was all Voldemort's doing.

Today, though… he had a feeling that they would open and strangely enough, he wished that they would remain locked, _especially_ today.

He stopped suddenly, his companions pausing at either side of him. For some reason, he couldn't find it in himself to give the necessary push that would make the gates open.

"A prophesy was made even before I was born," he closed his eyes, not needing to see the questioning stares that he could feel on him, "Others decided that I would live on or die fighting Voldemort. The path was laid out for me and all I could do was go along with it. Then, _he_ decided, that others would live or die because of me. No matter which way you see it, people only ever needed me for being the sacrifice."

His friends had been the only exception, but even they could never follow him along the path he was meant to take. In the end, everything had been for nothing. His very purpose in life had been a lie.

"The world begged for a salvation, someone that would carry all of their burdens on his shoulders and never complain about it. I merely gave them what they desired." He opened his eyes, gaze connecting with the marble, polished floor beneath his feet and he vaguely wondered when he had bent his head, "After all… aren't I the Chosen One?" Harry actually laughed at that, a mirthless, bitter laugh that had his shoulders shaking from the force of it.

Somewhere along the way it must have turned into an insane cackle, but he still couldn't bring himself to care. He was in fact surprised that his sanity had remained intact after everything that happened to him. One last hollow chuckle left his lips, before he felt it… the wetness.

It took him a moment, observing the water drops that seemed to materialize out of thin air on the flawless, white floor, to realize what was, in fact, happening.

Cursing lowly under his breath, he took off his glasses in order to wipe away the stupid tears, when a handkerchief was shoved into his line of sight. His eyes went up, following the length of the arm holding the item. The yellow blur that his eyes came up with was probably portraying the matriarch of the Malfoy line, reminding him that two members of the said line were still standing next to him. His gaze slipped back to the handkerchief, it seemed to be made out of white silk or some sort of, none too cheap, velvet.

At last, he took hold of it, feeling a tad ashamed at having ruined something so beautiful, "Thanks."

Narcissa held out her hand then, and he actually felt embarrassed about the wrinkled mess that had become of the flawless handkerchief. He couldn't help but blink when the elder witch took it without so much as grimacing in disgust, muttered a cleansing spell with her wand before performing a circular, little move that had the handkerchief straightened out and smooth again, and then handed it over back to him. "Hold it until we arrive. It might be of need again."

"Yes, can't have him sneering at me for showing such weakness in front of our guests, right?" Harry spat bitterly, pocketing the item while offering Mrs. Malfoy what he hoped looked like a grateful smile.

He hadn't smiled in quite some time, after all. So, he really wasn't surprised when his lips ached lightly from the pull. He could hardly remember when was the last time he had smiled or laughed for that matter. Was it at Bill's wedding? God, it seemed like decades ago.

But he nearly did crack a small smile when Draco reached forward and opened the doors for him with one push. The blond must have sensed his reluctance. But who could blame him though? Walking out of this castle meant going right into his doom.

It took him great effort to force the sudden bile back down his throat, and even greater to move his legs. But he did never the less. There'd just be one too many consequences if he didn't.

He instantly breathed deeply, filling his lungs with fresh air, eyes closing if only momentarily in bliss. The joy to be outside again.

His companions didn't complain for the delay and he was truly thankful for that, but they all knew this moment of happiness couldn't last long. _He_ would be angry if they were late. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Harry was the first one that began walking; it would be quite a while till they reached the Black Lake after all. He knew that there was no postponing the inevitable, but he still was eager to see the scenery he had missed so greatly during that week, marvel the beauty that was Hogwarts and keep as much detail as he could etched into his mind.

A reminder, so that he would never forget what his home looked like.

"People will start rebelling soon." Malfoy said from somewhere behind, snapping Harry out of his musings abruptly, "They won't stand to be controlled by him."

Harry was able to hear Narcissa's sharp intake of breath, probably out of fear for hearing her only son speak so disrespectfully of their Lord. And Harry didn't blame her. If Voldemort ever heard the youngest Malfoy question his authority like that, he would certainly not hesitate to show the boy what happened to those who defied him in such a way, whether or not they were the son of his right hand man.

"Don't illusion yourself. Only fools would fight against him now that he's become so powerful." He definitely knew all about that. He had been fighting for a lost cause from the beginning.

From the corner of his eye he saw Draco falling in step with him, but the boy's next question nearly made him freeze.

"And are you a fool, Potter?"

But Harry didn't answer, instead his eyes focused on the path ahead. A fool… Just a few days ago his answer would have been a definite yes, but now…

"_All is lost…" _Harry couldn't help the shiver that ran up his spine as Voldemort's words came back to him, the words that had been hissed into the air that night after the Dark Lord found out the truth.

"_The amount of the corpses of students surpasses by far that of Death Eaters. You have lost, Harry Potter…" _Voldemort had said, with no little concealed glee.

"_Do you feel proud now that so many people died in a battle that was never theirs to fight? In a battle that should have been led solely by you, their Savior? Many lives have been lost tonight, but I shall bestow you with one last chance to bring forth their salvation…_

"_Come to me, Harry Potter, and no further harm shall come to your comrades. Surrender yourself over to me now and there will be no more unnecessary deaths…_

"_Make your decision, Boy-Who-Lived, but choose wisely for the lives of so many souls rest with you."_

But the Dark Lord was not through just yet. In Harry's mind alone he had continued, _"Your destiny is calling, Harry, and you'd better not keep it waiting." _Harry's knees had buckled underneath him then, green eyes staring brokenly ahead just as everyone in the Great Hall turned to look at him. Tears had made their way down his cheeks as he gazed at the faces of all the people he cherished, people that he knew he had failed.

And Voldemort knew it too.

He was aware that Harry wouldn't have been able to take all that guilt, to continue, knowing that all those people died for him. One life, for the sake of millions of others…

And his friends knew it; they had seen it in his eyes, the resignation. He had bolted then, hauled himself up and ran out of the Hall as fast as his legs could carry him. The tears had increased as he heard them, Sirius, Remus, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny and many others calling to him, screaming and begging him to stop, but he couldn't.

Harry let out a shuddering breath, shaking his head a little as if he could chase away the unwanted thoughts by the action. Oh, right. Malfoy was still waiting an answer from him. "It's not my life I'm gambling with this time, Malfoy. If I were to fight his authority, others will pay the price. He'd punish them knowing that by doing so he's punishing me as well. And frankly now, try to be realistic. How can he ever fear something of his own creation?"

Draco's golden eyebrows met together in a scowl. Was it just him, or was Potter making no sense whatsoever today? Well, more so than usual at least. As if sensing his perplexity, Potter angled his head so that he could peer at him out of his left eye, before elaborating. "Enemies."

That only served to make Draco's scowl deepen. Yes, totally not making any sense. "You talk like a bloody Ravenclaw, Potter."

At this, Potter actually chuckled. "Really? Must be all the adrenaline rushing up to my head."

"Anxious to get bonded with the Dark Lord?" The words were out before he could stop them. The blank, unreadable expression that took over the raven haired boy's features struck him more than the glare his mother was sending his way. But the pain that was reflecting off those emerald eyes… it made him turn his head away with something akin to shame.

"Um…" he cleared his throat, feeling self conscious all of the sudden, "sorry, wasn't thinking." His eyes snapped up though, the moment he heard the other snort.

"Is that supposed to mean that usually you do?"

"Shut the hell up, Potter!"

"Draco!" Narcissa hissed warningly, eyes jerking to the side to silently chastise her son.

"But mother, he insulted me!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh at this, an actual, heart-warming laugh that had both his companions staring at him weirdly. Honestly, he was pretty sure that the snobbish blond hadn't even realized he had, in fact, whined. "Must admit, Malfoy. You do know how to cheer a doomed man."

Silence reigned over again, but Harry didn't think much of it. His gaze wandered over to the green fields that surrounded them, eyes spotting the faraway shadow of the Quidditch pitch in the distance. He'd really miss this place.

"It's not like you're a pig going to be slaughtered, you know."

Harry stopped dead on his tracks. He turned around slowly, eyes widening as he took in the bitter and somewhat pained expression on Malfoy's face and the fact that the blond refused to look at him. He whirled around swiftly, making his way towards the lake again, knowing that the other two would follow. Strange how in just a few hours he had regained his ability to laugh and smile again, he thought as he felt his lips stretch across his face.

No more than a few moments later, he stopped again. This time without even his notice. Breathe and just remain standing was all he could do.

They were here.

Up ahead, the glittering surface of the Black Lake could be seen, sparkling like a million diamonds under the sun's gaze and ironically enough, seeming as bright as never before. A complete contrast to both her name and the mood. There, at the edge of the lake, numbers of chairs were everywhere, conjured up to accommodate the number of people that had come to attend. No, not come. Forced, was a much better choice of word.

This was the Dark Lord's ultimate victory, greater even than conquering the Final Battle. Of course he'd force the people into attending their Hero's fall from grace, just so that he could extinguish any last traces of hope.

Harry didn't want to compare it with Bill's wedding, no matter how similar the setting was. No, Dumbledore's funeral was more like it.

His hands had started to tremble by now, so he clenched them, clenched them as tightly as he could, wishing for any kind of distraction and that included pain too. Yes, pain was good and more importantly, it was definitely leaving up to its expectations. Too bad that he wasn't allowed to be distracted for long.

He was aware that someone had taken hold of his hands, coaxing them gently into opening, but still he couldn't tear his gaze away from the scene ahead. When the tip of a wand was pressed softly in the inside of his palms and a murmured incantation followed, he didn't need to look, to know that the bloody half moons his fingernails had created were now gone, leaving nothing but unblemished skin behind.

He closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of warm hands closing around his own, and savoring the momentary comfort they gave him, so much like the comfort a mother would probably provide for her distressed child.

A feathery light tug snapped him back to reality. Narcissa Malfoy was staring at him, her silver-grey eyes drifting over to the scar that had marred him for life before centering into his eyes again and then closing briefly as if in a sad manner. "It is time to go, child."

_Child…_ Yes, wasn't that exactly what he was, compared to all of them? A lonely, pitiful child that had been raised for a purpose he'd never be able to fulfill.

He felt he could only nod in affirmative, to the woman or his musings, he still didn't know. Perhaps towards both?

And then they were moving again.

_**TBC…**_

**Waiting to hear your thoughts!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I won't waste your time with some useless ranting.**

**Just enjoy the chapter!**

**CHAPTER TWO**

Silence had been reigning long before they arrived. Who would dare speak in the presence of every single Death Eater and their fearsome Leader?

Mrs. Malfoy quickly made her way over to the right side, where black robed figures were seated and took her place beside a man with equally golden hair, if not a shade fainter. Draco was soon to follow, his gaze flickering over to Harry for a split second, before sitting between his mother and a woman with midnight black hair that fell in dark curls over her shoulders and back. That damned glee was ever present in her onyx eyes as they focused on Harry.

But Harry couldn't bring himself to care.

He hadn't expected the Malfoys to linger with him, but he had still hoped beyond hope. Voldemort wouldn't have allowed it anyway. No, the man wanted him to be alone as he made that final step.

His couldn't, for the life of him, lift his gaze over to where he knew the elder wizard to be standing. Didn't want to see those green eyes gleaming with the immense satisfaction that the man was sure to be feeling. Ah, that's right. He had nearly forgotten that the Dark Lord had had a change of heart on the matter of his appearance. Harry hadn't known that such an extreme alteration was even possible but when, on one of the few occasions the wizard had come to Hogwarts in the past week, he had seen the very same boy that he had met five years ago, striding through the halls, he had nearly had a heart attack.

And the bastard had even had the audacity to smirk at his gobsmacked expression!

But Harry had to give credit when it was earned. The man knew how to handle any kind of situation. Fear and intimidation were a given factor in order to win a war, but ruling a country required charm and respect; something that his former visage could absolutely not provide.

The wizard's actual age though, must have played a role or two, for he now seemed closer to twenty rather than the sixteen year old that Harry remembered.

His gaze suddenly drifted downwards, focusing entirely at the green of his robes as he felt all those stares turn on him at once. It must have been kind of a shock too. Gryffindor's Golden Boy wrapped up in Slytherin colors.

Another message for the world to see, courtesy of the Dark Lord.

When the Death Eater had brought him his dress robes, Harry hadn't known what to expect, but it definitely wasn't this. The formal robes he was supposed to wear were the darkest of green, so dark that in fact, it seemed like he was dressed in black. But no, of course not. Voldemort would never do him such a favor. It was to his greatest horror when he discovered that whenever you placed the clothes some place light, the material would shine the brightest of green. His silver tie was no exception.

A vicious, little sting caused him to cringe involuntary, eyes snapping up in exasperation but still refusing to go anywhere near the source of his discomfort.

He had forgotten the Dark Lord did not appreciate tardiness.

'_Better get this over and done with.'_ Harry thought irritably and forcing his expression to remain neutral, he lifted his chin, posture straightening and _then_ he proceeded forward.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the way all those people gazed at him, feel the weight of all their stares and whatever kind of emotion they held. Pity. Oh, yes, there was that. He, the ever suffering figurehead of all that was Light, the poor boy that paid for all of their mistakes and wrongs, the unfortunate soul that had been dragged into a war in the mere age of one.

Then, there were also those that would tear their gaze away the moment his eyes would seek theirs.

Ah… regret.

They could see, the entire lot of them, how wrong it was to allow someone else to burden all of their weights, to take a little kid and raise it accordingly in order to turn it into the perfect little martyr.

At least, they were aware that he was doing this for _their_ sake. Good, about bloody time to start experiencing some of the guilt their actions guaranteed.

Still…

Sudden movement, somewhere to his left, caught Harry's attention, his steps faltering of their own accord before halting completely. Angling his head accordingly, he could feel the slight widening of his eyes and before he knew it, his whole body had turned to face the horrifying sight.

Sirius… the ever so joyful face of his godfather, that ear splitting grin that would always adorn his face whenever he felt proud for something that Harry did, whether it was a prank or an exceedingly good mark… was now gone. His eyebrows furrowed at the picture the once proud man now was. Cuts, bruises and any other injury an illegal hex or curse could provide, expression scrunched up into one of mind shattering rage, one that would fairly rival that of Lord Voldemort, and hair disheveled, wild locks sticking to his face.

Harry knew that his condition was none other than the result of the Final Battle. The man couldn't have possibly sustained all of those during the past week, for the simple reason that no one was allowed to harm the people, foe or citizen alike.

He could see him opening his mouth, apparently screaming something to him, but Harry was unable to hear any of it thanks to the strong Silencing Charm.

Not bearing to watch those haunting blue eyes any longer, Harry shifted his gaze over to the figure beside Sirius, green instantly locking with brown. The calmness in those gentle, almond colored eyes, such an overwhelming contrast to his godfather's emotions, caught him off guard. It was the calmness of acceptance, of resignation.

His vision was getting blurrier by each second, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from that gaze. Rooted as he was on the spot, he allowed himself this moment, to bask in the affection and love that never faded nor dimmed in those soft, brown depths, but also the pride. So unlike the pride that he was granted with when he did well in performing an advanced spell, and yet, so utterly welcoming. It took away all his guilt for failing in the task that was set upon him, wrenched apart the images from the looks of disappointment he received, and granted him solace.

Remus didn't struggle in his binds like Sirius, didn't speak either, aware of the futile attempt it would be thanks to the Charm that had no doubt been placed upon him as well. And yet, it was as if he had shouted the words.

_You've done well._

Harry's eyes were starting to sting from the strain he was putting in them, absolutely refusing to allow the water in them to flow. His scar had also begun stinging somewhere along the way, soon turning into a painful throb after it was ignored for too long. His time was up.

He tuned out the pain for a second, desperate to relish the moment that he knew he would never get to experience again after today.

Gazing at the two figures that he had come to view as family for the last four years, he allowed his lips to stretch ever so lightly, forming a soft, gentle smile that had Sirius actually ceasing in his vigorous struggling. He poured into that one, last smile all the emotions that had welled up inside him, filling him to the brim. And they heard the words he had been unable to let spill from his mouth, like a Silencing Charm had been cast on him too, the words he wanted them to remember forever.

_I love you, always._

He whirled around then, face morphing into one of utter stoicism, deprived of any kind of emotion whatsoever but apathy. Only then did he allow himself the first glimpse of that perfectly crafted scene before him.

A mere few feet away, right at the edge of the Lake, four columns stood, proudly looming over the waters and casting an eerie glow on the surface. They were made out of pearl-white marble, the kind that would glisten as the sunrays licked its skin, and were placed squarely. Like four, well trained guardians, they were hovering over an equally pearl-white, obviously marble too, long table.

At a first glance, the scene would seem cut out from a fairytale, what with its peaceful and calming demeanor… and then, just as the spectator would start feeling at ease, his eyes would land on the figure beside the table.

Dressed in particularly dark, crimson robes, as if to separate them from the joyously bright, Gryffindor category, emerald eyes gleaming with a spark that had nothing to do with the sun, seeing as he was in the shade and all, and short black, wavy but neat, hair dancing smoothly alongside the wind as it blew, the Dark Lord seemed like the epitome of nastiness to Harry. A demon, alluring and devious, observing its trapped prey and waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

Harry didn't realize he had been staring right into those hellish green depths until the contact was broken, the man now facing the other way around, his robes performing a smooth, whishing sound at his sharp turn. Harry wasn't entirely sure, but he thought he caught sight of a curl on the man's lip before it had been guided into a thin line again. Seems like he hadn't been spared the sneering after all.

Well, pity.

Filling his lungs with a much needed breath of air, Harry took the final, necessary steps that would lead him right over to Voldemort, his legs halting of their own accord just as he was a breath away, his instincts kicking in and trying vainly to talk some sense into him. He should have let those people vent for themselves, he still could. An image, brief but vivid, of those blue and brown eyes flashed right before his eyes, and he was suddenly reminded of another pair, or two pairs in specific.

Sirius and Remus weren't the only ones he was doing this for. There were others, equally important people that he wanted to keep safe, his two best friends being among them.

Yes, he wasn't doing this just for the Wizarding community; he was also doing it for those he held dear to his heart. After all, who else could do the impossible but him? And not because his head had been filled with all those vain ideas of Chosen Ones and Saviors, but because he knew from experience that no one was as foolish as to stand up against the darkest wizard of all time, but him. He had proven that numerous times already in the past, and there was no way in hell that he was going to let the Dark Lord feeling smug about his accomplishment for long.

It was with a renewed resolve that he took his assigned position next to the other wizard.

"You are late." said the man, his distaste quite clear in his icy-cold tone.

"My apologies, your Lordship." Harry replied just as evenly, not allowing his voice to bath with all the sarcasm and hatred he was feeling. "It wasn't my intention."

_Lies._

He was speaking nothing but lies, he was aware, and Voldemort was too.

"I suggest you improve your sense of time in the near future." A pause. Harry knew from the sudden urge to cringe that the man was piercing him with one of his glares. "Extenuating your cheek would be wise as well, especially when conversing with your superiors."

Harry's lips thinned as he struggled to keep his jaw from clenching. He was being tested, he knew it. Tested to see if he could act as he was supposed to, after their deal. Holding his facial expressions under firm control, the raven haired boy blinked slowly, once.

"Of course." he answered at last, his voice sounding exactly as he had wanted it. Submissive.

Yet, the Dark Lord wasn't fooled, for he hadn't uttered the two words that were expected of him. _My Lord._

He hadn't done so on purpose. They were both aware of course, that even if he had spoken them, they would have been completely meaningless. After all, Harry couldn't fake emotions that didn't come naturally. And pouring respect into those two little words was a task that would remain unfulfilled.

Voldemort didn't deem him worthy of a vocal response. Besides, it'd only be a waste of time, saliva too. And their schedule was already loaded.

Mutely, Voldemort lifted one hand towards the marble table, his long, thin fingers caressing almost lovingly the silver dagger that was resting innocently on its surface, before heaving it with the gracefulness and the adoration of an assassin. He shifted his body then, turning towards Harry fully, the dagger carefully held on top of his outstretched palms. Those steel green eyes that had been watching the ornate weapon with such intensity, suddenly jerked up, and that intensity seemed to reach new heights as they pinned Harry where he stood.

"You know what you need to do."

And Harry did, for the man had taken extra care to drill the procedure into his head. But voicing that thought didn't hold much appeal to him, so he simply nodded.

His gaze then trailed downwards, studying the dagger with something suspiciously related to dreadfulness. His stomach became a tight knot of twists all of a sudden, making it a tad hard for him to inhale. The emerald jewels that were embedded into the hilt appeared to be taunting him as they sparkled, the gracefully curved _S _they were creating morphing in his mind's eye, taking the form of a green snake as it coiled and readied itself to strike.

Clenching his jaw at his paranoia, Harry had to force himself to swallow as he battled to reign over his racing pulse. With slow, precise moves, he allowed his fingers to close around the jeweled hilt.

It was hard, admitting to himself that there was no going back now. He tried though to do that, as he drew a narrow cut on his palm, just as he tried to ignore all the eyes that had centered on his person. Breath becoming ragged, he held his palm above the silver chalice that the Dark Lord was now holding out for him, balling his hand into a fist and clenching, squeezing his fingers tightly together until crimson liquid made its way downwards, merging with the water that Harry knew resided in the goblet.

One.

Two.

Three drops.

Harry withdrew his hand quickly then, aware that the result wouldn't be pleasant if more than the required drops were to go in.

His eyes focused on the ground then, watching as more bloody droplets fell from his now limp hand and onto the ground. He really didn't need to witness the Dark Lord going through the same process, finding it easier to deal with the whole thing this way.

Soon however, too soon, another chalice was shoved into his line of vision, involuntary capturing his attention. Slowly, his eyes traveled up the length of it, halting at the sight of those pale digits wrapped around its base. He fought the sudden urge that washed through him, the need to shut his eyes nearly overpowering him, so he jerked them upwards, locking instantly with a nearly identical pair of green. It sickened him, scared him too, how alike they were in appearances, something he had come to realize was the Horcrux's fault.

Even the man's memory self had commented on it, the Horcrux that resided in the diary recognizing somewhat the Horcrux in him.

But clearly, that uneasy familiarity that had been woven between them wasn't enough to quench the lust for vengeance that had taken over his counterpart's green eyes. Eyes that even now were glowing just as fiercely, only with a different type of feelings in the background.

Immense satisfaction for one, and apparent gloating for another.

Harry didn't even bother to glare up at him. What difference would it make anyway? The man _had_ won after all, as much as Harry loathed to admit it. Continuing to deny that fact would only make him appear childish, foolish too.

So, it was with a final sigh that the raven haired youth took hold of the goblet, scowling at the sight of the scarlet water, and noticing from the corner of his eye the Dark Lord doing the same with the second chalice, the one he had put his blood into. The taste didn't worry him, it'd be a little bitter, but nothing he couldn't handle; it contained, after all, only three drops of blood. However, what did worry him was the identity of the person they belonged to, and more importantly, the kind of outcome that would follow.

He brought the chalice to his lips, swallowing quickly under the ever watchful eye of the Dark Lord, as he himself mimicked the auction in a much more leisure pace. Harry had merely wanted to get over and done with it.

He raised one hand, wiping with his thumb a stray trail of the liquid from the corner of his mouth, closing his eyes wearily once Voldemort began the chanting, weaving the spell that would seek the other's blood in them and tie together the souls of those that owned that blood; their souls.

Harry felt nauseous as the foreign magic surged through him, gleefully identifying the blood he had swallowed as Tom Marvolo Riddle's and then pulling at him with vigor, as if hurrying to bind his everything to that person.

And next thing he knew, Harry was panting hard, reclaiming the wind that had forcefully been knocked out of him. Instantly, his eyes sought out his hand, locating what he was looking for within seconds. There, curled around his wrist, was a golden bracelet of sorts. The jewel represented a serpent that was biting viciously its own tail, emerald gems in the place of its eyes.

_Ouroboros…_

That was its name. Voldemort had said it was the sign of eternity. It had worked then, the ritual. An inaudible, choked sob slipped past Harry's lips at that though, before he could stop it.

He needn't have worried however, seeing as no one had witnessed it. They were too busy paying attention to the words that were spilling out of their new ruler's mouth, words of a brand new era, words of prosperity and evolution. Harry couldn't, for the life of him, focus on the man's speech but from the entranced, almost bewitched looks on the people's faces, he was abruptly reminded of something that Slughorn had told him once.

"_You have no idea how he was like…even then."_

But Harry knew. The charisma and skill the man possessed was unlike any other's. He could alter one's view with a handful of carefully crafted, silky words. And his acting skills were plausible too, Harry concluded as he observed him work the crowd into some kind of trance.

Not all of their guests however, were transfixed; hanging from the man's every word as if they were a blessing. Quite the opposite, in fact. A bunch of red heads were glaring pretty vividly at the Dark Lord, their eyes aflame with the emotions that couldn't possibly be put into words. The consequences of that would be much too severe. And it made Harry love them all the more for that. The way they refused to bend under the dark wizard's firm grip was truly exceptional, as was their clear loathing of the deal that had been forced on Harry.

Those people were the first family that Harry had ever had. They treated him as their own flesh and blood, and felt the enormous weight he had to carry on his shoulders as their own. And each of them, in their own special way, had tried to lessen that burden as much as they could. He truly appreciated them, the Weasleys.

But when his gaze connected with the two people that had been there for him through thick and thin, he really felt ashamed for not having requested to see them sooner.

It had been seven days, a whole week, since the last time he saw Ron and Hermione. It felt surreal actually, the fact that only a few days ago they were fighting together in the battle field, armed and prepared to defend their school, their friends, and their very beliefs. Months they had spent hunting shadows, believing in the maybe that would turn the war in their favor should they succeed. And to think that it had all been for naught.

His friends' eyes were fixed solely on him and no one else, studying his form carefully and taking in every possible detail, probably checking to see if he was properly taking care of himself. They knew first handed how quickly he could lose his appetite when there was something serious enough to trouble his mind.

His lips curved into the tiniest of smiles at that, an action that immediately captured their attention. Hermione's kind, chestnut eyes began filling with sparkling, crystal-like tears. It pained him; seeing such desperation in them.

A jolt of fear coursed through him though, when the witch turned her distressed eyes towards Ron, told him something that Harry couldn't possibly hope to hear from such a distance, and then to his greatest horror, she made to leap out of her seat. Harry's pulse had sped up at an impossibly fast pace in those few seconds, and he nearly shouted at her to stay put. Most thankfully though, Ron's fingers had latched around her wrist at the exactly perfect time, pulling her back down before she had even started to stand.

That was it. If Harry didn't die from a heart attack today, he doubted he ever would.

Taking deep, calming breaths, his eyes narrowed to the angriest of glares, feeling no remorse whatsoever when the girl flinched from being at the receiving end of it. And damn right he was to feel furious. She had nearly gotten herself killed! Demonstrating such kind of defiance right in front of all the Death Eaters and, most importantly, the Dark Lord himself was downright suicidal. And he cerainly hadn't agreed with Voldemort's terms only for her to throw away her life so carelessly.

He felt so exhausted all of a sudden. The entire week's and today's events were finally beginning to take their toll on him.

Letting his eyes soften back, he met Ron's stare dead on. His blue gaze swept over Harry meaningfully, silently asking the very question that Harry had seen coming.

_You ok?_

He gave a nonchalant shrug, appearing to the common eye like he was easing the tension out of his shoulders. Knowing that Ron had gotten his message, Harry tilted his chin upwards ever so slightly, throwing back a question of his own.

_You?_

His best friend nodded curtly as he continued to rub soothing circles on Hermione's back, mutely comforting the girl that was sobbing softly on his shoulder.

Harry felt awful then. This was the last time they were seeing each other and he had managed to distress her further, rather than sooth her turmoil, the turmoil that they were all feeling. And Harry didn't like that notion in the least. Dragging his eyes purposely slow from Ron to Hermione, he waited for his ginger haired friend to catch on. Ron's blue eyes widened a fraction, instantly bending his head until it was right next to Hermione's ear. He whispered something and the very next second, the witch's head had jerked off his shoulder, her bright eyes boring into Harry's own.

Smiling gently at the silent apology that was clear in her stare, Harry raised his arm, completely ignorant to any other spectator as he laid his open palm right above his heart. It could be interpreted in many ways, all of them fine by him.

_Thank you._

_I'll never forget you._

Hermione's eyes watered even more if possible, but it was the radiant smile she sent his way that told him she had understood both meanings. Ron's smile was just as brilliant, both of them mimicking his auction by bringing their own hands up and resting them on their hearts. There was no mistaking the message they wanted to get across.

_We'll always hold dear the memories we made together._

This was their parting gift to him, their final goodbye.

He didn't even have time to return their smiles, though. His arm was suddenly seized by another and yanked him forward roughly, eliciting a sharp gasp from him as he raised startled, wide eyes to look into the narrowed ones of Voldemort, not missing the raging fury that was displayed in them. Had the man caught the exchange between him and his friends?

"Seems like our time here is up." the Dark Lord hissed while his lips curled into a snarl, his iron-like grip on Harry's wrist tightening to further his point.

His insides froze all over as the implication behind those words registered in Harry's mind. He snapped his head to the other side, just barely catching a last glimpse of his loved ones' faces, as well as the terror in their eyes or seething rage in Sirius's case, before he felt the only too familiar tug behind his navel that whisked him away.

**END OF CHAPTER TWO**

**Ok, so who thinks that this sentimental crap was totally not necessary? *grins***

**No, seriously. I had just finished writing it when I realized just _how _sentimental it had become. Angsty too.**

**Now that I think of it, I should probably change the genre into angst if this keeps up.**

**Anyway, tell me what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, everyone!**

**I apologize for my long absence but I was taking a break. You know, just reading fanfiction rather than writing it. But I'm back now and I plan to update the rest of my HP fics too.**

**CHAPTER THREE**

Side along apparition had never been Harry's forte, but admittedly, he liked to believe that after months of popping from one place to another with Ron and Hermione he'd gotten rather used to the nauseating sensation of being squished through a tube.

Never the less, that still didn't prevent him from staggering like a drunkard the moment his feet reconnected with solid ground.

Ironically enough, it was only Voldemort's grip on his wrist that kept him from outright humiliating himself by ceremoniously landing on his arse.

Ears burning up, he wrenched his arm free.

The look that the older wizard favored him with would have made fully grown men cower in fear.

Scowling, Harry turn to eye their surroundings, squinting slightly. Nightfall was already beginning to settle, but as far as he could see, only a couple or so lamp posts had been lit. Which, in itself, caused him to blink and do a double check. Were they in Muggle London or something?

Turning on the spot, Harry swirled around, taking in the outdated little cottages that lined up the entire square.

That pretty much summed it up. Definitely not London.

"Where are we exactly?"

Voldemort didn't even spare him a glance. Wordlessly, he proceeded towards the only alight lamp, forcing Harry to begrudgingly fall in step with him.

Two lamp posts were stationed at either side of a narrow pathway that led up to the stone steps of a church.

If he had taken his time to properly look at the church, Harry might had actually found it pretty familiar, but as it was, he was preoccupied with gawking at the granite statue that had sprung up on them. From the distance, he had gotten the impression it was some sort of erected obelisk, but as they neared, faces started carving themselves on its surface, followed by the full shape of their bodies.

Harry had actually forgotten about the statue's existence. Moving as it was, he had been more interested in his parents' graves.

Taking another look around, he tried imagining the same scenery but with the addition of snow. The previous time he had been here with Hermione it was Christmas Eve. The pavement, the cottages, the church…everything had been covered from top to bottom in snow.

Seeing it now, it came as no surprise to him that no signs of recognition had been stirred. Without the snowflakes, and the square devoid of the sound of Christmas carols, the village seemed rather barren, hollow even.

Shaking his head, he made to follow the Dark Lord towards the entrance of the cemetery.

They passed by many tombstones, some of them engraved with names known to them both; Dumbledore, Peverell…

Harry, however, didn't dare glance at any of those. Filled with an itching sense of foreboding, he kept his eyes glued on Voldemort's form a few paces ahead of him. What business did the Dark Lord have with his dead parents? Goodness, even in his own head, that single sentence had sounded utterly ridiculous.

Predictably, Voldemort's steps came to a halt directly before James and Lilly's Potter tombstone.

Just beneath the inscription: _The last enemy that shall be conquered is death_, lay the wreath that Hermione had conjured; withered, and with more than half of the flower petals on the ground.

…The sight was depressing.

Why weren't ever flowers in his parents' grave? Hermione's wreath was actually the first to grace the cold tombstone.

Had Sirius and Remus never come here? Not that he founded that particularly hard to believe. He doubted they ever stepped foot in this village after the events of that Halloween night.

What about the other people, though? All those that had written their names on the statue? Had not a single one of them felt compelled to bestow their esteemed heroes' final resting place with a small token of their gratitude? Then again, he wouldn't put it past them to view it as blasphemy. Perhaps they didn't want to make it seem as pity.

"Figures that Dumbledore would have wanted a say even in this." Voldemort said, apparently answering one of his inner musings. "It's all quite poetical, really." he went on, glancing at Harry from over his shoulder. "I signed their deaths," he gestured airily at himself before pointing towards the gravestone, "but the old coot wouldn't have been satisfied with allowing me the last say. He had to put his signature as well."

The initial shock hadn't even started to fade away for the offense to sink in, before Voldemort continued, seemingly voicing just another notion of his, "What do you think?"

His head tilted to the side in silent evaluation of the relatively empty space on either side of the Potters' grave. "I wonder if there's enough room for that mutt and the wolf. Perhaps it would be prudent to make some more, just for precaution's sake."

"Excuse me?" Harry blurted, thunderstruck. Teeth grounding loudly together, he stepped up to the wizard. "You said you wouldn't hurt any of them. You took a Vow!"

"Yes," the Dark Lord said absently, still contemplating the grave before him, "However, I hold no doubt in my mind that they will attempt to whisk you away from me, which of course, shall be viewed as an act of rebellion. Therefore, I will be free to act as I please."

The furious face of Sirius's thrashing form flashed in Harry's mind and he would be lying if he said he wasn't scared shitless, because he didn't believe for a second his godfather was actually going to abide by the agreement.

"No!" Harry yelled, grabbing onto Voldemort's elbow. "You can't hurt them!"

"Careful, Potter." The Dark Lord finally tore his gaze away from the tombstone, eyeing meaningfully the hand firmly gripping his own, "You don't want to overstep the boundaries of _your _Vow, now do you?"

Harry glared at him, but when he made to remove his hand, Voldemort's arm shot out and dragged him forward by the elbow.

"Wha-?"

"While still on the delicate matter of Vows, I believe it is due time we completed the ritual. We have reminisced enough for now."

Disoriented by the abrupt change of topic, Harry was going to inquire about the meaning of that sentence and next thing he knew, warm lips came crushing upon his own. He was given only a millisecond for his eyes to widen, before a fierce shock wave coursed through him, bringing all upcoming thoughts to a dead end.

A cry was torn from his lips as he pushed away from the other man, enveloping his middle within the folds of his arms.

He stared at the ground, panic flooding his eyes with every second that went past and the scorching sensation seemed nowhere near subsiding. His body was becoming incredibly hot, unbearably so. He felt like he was running a fever.

"What did you do to me?" he breathed out, registering the deeper tone his voice had adopted but refusing to acknowledge it.

Voldemort's gaze felt measurably heavier than usual, instilling in Harry the urge to shy away from the first time since the man's resurrection. He just stared at him, unwaveringly and unblinkingly, not once straying away. Unsettled, and distinctly uncomfortable, Harry's arms tightened around his person.

"This is the final requirement to be met." Voldemort sounded perfectly composed, voice undeniably steady compared to the jumbled mess Harry's had turned into.

It irked him how frustratingly cool the other was capable of acting, even though Harry was certain that the effects of whatever this was extended to him as well.

"What requirement?" he bit out, temper unwittingly flaring.

The smile Voldemort bestowed him with was disconcerting, to say the least. So vague that it was impossible to be interpreted in any sort of way. "Intimacy is the trigger to initiate the bracelet's effect."

Harry's brow furrowed, not soothed in the slightest bit by that.

"To put it mildly," the Dark Lord went on, taking a step forward, "your entire body will get warmer and warmer to the point that the heat will eventually drive you insane, in all of its literal and figurative glory, unless you…" he chuckled indulgently, giving the stunned youth a wry little smile, "well, shall we say, douse it?"

Fingers burrowing in the robes' fabric, Harry's lips pressed together, fed up with the beating around the bush that Voldemort was so keen on. "And how do I _douse _it?"

The older wizard swooped down, and he meant that in every sense of the word. Seriously, one moment he was standing a few feet away, safely at distance, and the next he was right in front of Harry, hands on the younger man's hips and face way too close for comfort.

Harry yelped, caught off guard by the abrupt rush of heat that accompanied Voldemort's proximity.

"It's rather simple, actually." Voldemort whispered almost conspiratorially, his breath hot against Harry's ear, "All you need to do is give in."

And he promptly bit down on the shell, causing Harry's eyes to grow double in size from the way his body just seized up.

…Horrified.

Harry was absolutely horrified how an action so simple compared to other forms of intimacy could affect him so greatly that his legs would tremble.

"Stop," he whispered back, scared to hear the state his own voice had been reduced to.

He was no kid.

He could add two and two together. Not to mention, Voldemort's actions combined with the looks he was given left little to no room for doubt. And Merlin, the Dark Lord was now sucking on his earlobe and Harry felt on the verge of collapsing. He didn't understand what was going on. He thought the ritual had been over. No one had told him about a final stage in it.

"Stop," he repeated, firmer this time. "This isn't what I signed up for!" He shoved at him, pushing violently at his chest and getting him to remove his hands.

Instead, Voldemort grabbed his thrashing wrist, making Harry pause from both the jolt that crawled up his arm and the abnormal angle the appendage was being twisted. "Quite on the contrary. Your oath was to submit to me; and what's the most natural form of submission?"

He didn't want this.

Voldemort had taken everything from him, including his freedom.

This, however, was something he had never even considered as a potential demand.

Feeling more trapped than ever before, and with his borrowed wand confiscated by the Dark wizard, Harry could sense the tell tale signs of suffocation creeping up on him.

The grip Voldemort had on his wrist was iron like. The more he pulled, the more Voldemort tightened his hold, and as if in response, the more he felt his wind pipe being crushed. He tried clawing at the older wizard's hand in an attempt to get him to let go, but the man didn't appear the slightest bit fazed by the multiple scratches now marring his skin, some of them deep enough that had started to ooze blood.

The prolonged flesh on flesh contact was making Harry's wrist seem like it was on fire.

In his panic induced haze, Harry took to retaliating in the only possible way he could think of; with all the strength he possessed, he slammed his foot onto Voldemort's.

He was certain that it was merely by surprise that the man's hold grew momentarily slack.

Harry didn't waste any more precious time; he bolted while he could.

Zigzagging around gravestones, he made a beeline for the exit of the cemetery, where he actually paused. He raked his eyes up and down the square, wringing his brain for any sort of hideout within the small village. Discouraged and just a little panicky at coming up empty handed, he tore towards the right, faintly recalling the outskirts to be in that direction.

He couldn't believe he was actually considering this, but he found himself a tad grateful towards his cousin and his thrice damned gang of morons for all the years of Harry Hunting. It was only thanks to that that running came so naturally to him.

It was mildly similar to his Seeker position, as a matter of fact.

Once he was out in the pitch, he knew what had to be done to earn the points that would ensure his team's victory; fly as fast as you can, don't lose the other Seeker, track the golden snitch. It was as simple as that. During matches was the only time he could concentrate on something without being sidetracked by any wandering thoughts. That was the case with running as well.

The instinct of what came with it had been instilled in him since a very long time ago.

Though, he had to admit, he'd take Dudley and his gang over the Dark Lord any day.

This time around, when the small cottage came into view, he barely even spared a glance at the board that sprung up, stomach churning at the very prospect of reading for a second time the messages of encouragement and blunt proclamations of loyalties. They spoke of a time of peace and celebration, of years long gone, and he despised them for that.

He pushed past the gates, aggravated that he had been tasked with fulfilling such a humiliating contract.

Where was the Harry Potter whose praises had been sung throughout Wizarding Britain, the Boy-Who-Lived that was prophesized to bring about the salvation of all wizarding kind?

If there was such a Savior, where the bloody hell was he? Because Harry could really use one right now.

The ransacked building that appeared about to collapse at any given second was anything but on the inside.

Harry's steps froze on the threshold, wide eyes taking in the immaculate interior of his once home. He was aware that magic had been used to retain the place as it used to be, but he certainly hadn't expected for the lights to turn on the moment he went in. The entrance door closed softly behind him, emitting a whispering little thud as he leaned his weight against it. And why should it creak? The Fidelius had not been breached; the enchantment had allowed Voldemort to walk in with nothing but a mere unlocking spell on the door. There had been no need to force his way in.

Having been entrusted the house's location by Pettigrew, the safe keeper himself, it was child's play from then on for the Dark Lord.

Harry knew…He had, after all, seen the entire night precisely as it had been unfolded.

Besides having his wand broken and acquiring several broken ribs by Nagini, Harry had escaped Godric's Hollow that night with Voldemort's memory of the events that had taken place all those years ago. He had been unconscious for three days in a row, Hermione had said, eyes bloodshot and sleep deprived.

"_You were thrashing around," Hermione whispered, voice full of gratitude, and Harry's still foggy brain was unable to fathom why she'd sound so relieved just from seeing him wake._

_He squinted, not sure if he was imagining things without his glasses, but he could have sworn there were water trails running down his friend's face._

_Then, Hermione buried her face in her hands and Harry sat up, instantly alarmed at the sobs that racked the girl's entire frame._

_He winced, back cracking impossibly loud and arms screaming their protest at being made to push his body into a sitting position. He gnawed on his lower lip till he tasted blood, fighting nail and tooth to refrain from projecting his rising discomfort at the hammering inside his head._

_Perhaps he didn't do too much of a decent job at it, because Hermione's muffled sobs rose in volume, glassy brown eyes peering at him through shaky fingers almost shamefully._

"_I'm s-sorry. God, Harry I'm s-so sorry! There was n-nothing else I could d-do!" her voice was bordering on hyperventilation now, body shaking uncontrollably, "You were screaming a-and…and thrashing a-around so much…You kept trying to scrape your face raw! I didn't know what was going on, Harry, you were like a man p-possessed… I used ropes to tie you down, but you struggled worse, and- god, I'm so sorry!"_

_Harry tuned her out, shutting his eyelids tight against the images that flashed vividly in his mind._

_He brushed past the inconsolable girl, forgetting all aches as he rushed for the exit of the tent, making it only a few paces away before retching violently on the snow covered ground. Afterwards, once there was nothing else to heave, Harry pushed away from the revolting sight. His fists slammed the ground repeatedly, refusing to stop even after losing sensation to his hands._

_Arms slid around his torso, constricting his arms to the point he wouldn't he able to move them._

"_It's in the past, Harry!" Hermione mumbled in his ear, probably scared that by raising her voice she'd send him spiraling into another feat, "Please, there's nothing you can do about it now!"_

_Harry froze, blown green irises tearing to the side to stare at her, taking her face in for the first time since coming to consciousness. From this close, he could clearly make out the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. Her face was too pale, unhealthily so, and there were black circles beneath her eyes, deep enough to hint on the sleepless nights spent._

…_She said he had been screaming._

_Witnessing first handed Voldemort's sickening point of view, and being forced through the man's whimsical bursts of absolute glee that accompanied the death of each of his parents, Harry was terrified to inquire about the content of his screams._

_Had he shouted in desperation along with James for Lily to flee, or had he begged for his mother's life to be spared, like she had done for him?_

…_Had he laughed, enjoining far too much the helpless state Dumbledore's favorites had been reduced to?_

_He didn't want to find out the answer but whatever it was he had said, Hermione must have gotten the gist of it in the end, the clever witch that she was. She hadn't been upset about the method she employed to subdue him, it would seem. Then, what were those tears for? Were they meant for his parents, or…?_

_Harry turned the other way, fingers tugging on midnight strands of hair. His parched throat wasn't nearly enough to stop the anguished howl from tumbling out._

_He didn't care if she pitied him now._

_He simply hadn't wanted anyone to find out just how messed up he was underneath._

_Hermione let him, arms only steeling around him when he sagged against her. She didn't say anything, but the fact she hadn't upped and left spoke volumes to Harry, more than actual words ever could. _

Staring at the sitting room that spread before him now, he vaguely entertained the notion of how cozy it looked…

…That is, if one ignored the stench of death that seemed to flood the place.

Making his way over to the staircase that led to the upper floor, Harry half expected to find James Potter's lifeless shell sprawled across the wooden steps. A breath left his shaking lips upon seeing them bare, and he mentally berated himself. What the hell was he even thinking? His parents' remains had been the only thing that was removed from here.

Fingers bracing around the shiny wood of the banister, Harry climbed up, openly cringing when he passed next to the spot his father had laid, dead after direct contact with the Killing Curse.

Quickening his pace, he glanced briefly at the door on his right that greeted him upon reaching the top.

He bypassed it, not curious enough to glimpse the room it concealed and instead moved across the hallway, pausing between two other doors. One on his left and the other on his right; both of them were exactly the same, from the natural coloring of the wood which was a light brown, down to the shape of the iron handle.

Harry turned right, swallowing harshly. He lifted a hand to the knob, shuddering reflexively at the chill that shot up his arm, and opened.

The nursery that stood beyond was exactly the same as in Voldemort's memory.

Painted a soft aqua hue, the walls were as Harry had imagined a baby boy's nursery room to be. The lamp on top of a couple of drawers illuminated a beige ceiling and along with it the miniature figures that had been drawn; dragons of all colors flapped their bat-like wings when the door shut behind him, blinking and stretching languidly as if awoken from a deep slumber. A couple of Hippogriffs and Pegasi were peering strangely at him, while some others turned to preen themselves.

In the other side of the ceiling, right above the wooden crib that stood at the far end of the room, a black dog, a red stag, a brown wolf, a white deer and a grey rat were chasing around in circles. He went ignored as the wolf and dog tackled the deer to the ground only to leap away seconds afterwards, tails wagging merrily.

Feeling physically ill, Harry turned away from the sight, intending to walk out of the room when his eyes landed on a couple of small toys strewn over the small space between the drawers and the crib.

A low, pitiful moan passed through his lips, recalling perfectly the way his mother's form had fallen on top of them.

Face burying in the depths of his palms, he couldn't help but question the rationality of his decision to come here. Because he had nowhere else to go? Surely anywhere else would have been better than this place!

Mind made up, Harry strode over to the door only to withdraw his outstretched hand before it had even touched the knob.

Gathering his arm close, he stared down at the golden jewelry resting snugly around his wrist, eyes widening at the implication of the twinge that had coursed through him.

"Oh, no…no, no, no." he muttered, head shaking from side to side defiantly. "Don't do this to me now."

As if seeking to contrast him, the warmth he had been blissfully deprived of thanks to the distance between him and Voldemort, slowly started seeping back into his bones, rekindling by the second. Harry's arms wound around himself, despairing at the tingling sensation that spread from head to toe.

Why hadn't he heard Voldemort entering the house?

Had _he _made any sound while processing through the house? He couldn't remember. His mind had been otherwise preoccupied.

He started when his back made contact with the wall, unaware he had been walking backwards all this time.

The door across him burst open, the grating sound it made after snapping clear off its hinges overlapping Harry's pained cry as there existed no more barriers between the Dark Lord and himself. The so far bearable warmth turned all of a sudden into a heat that scorched him whole.

He looked up through hooded eyes, surprised for a moment there was no real fire licking at his skin, before his gaze was involuntarily drawn to the figure in the threshold.

Voldemort strode into the room with confident, steady steps, and to his horror, Harry could sense his pulse quickening with each one of them.

Vivid green eyes swept over every corner of the room, as if checking to make certain that everything was still in place, before finally ending their perusal with the crib. The man seemed inexplicably transfixed with it as he made his way over for closer inspection.

Harry extracted himself from the wall tentatively, taking cautious steps towards the unguarded doorway.

"So many memories," Voldemort breathed lowly, causing Harry to freeze in his tracks.

Hesitantly, he directed his gaze towards the other wizard, fearful of his findings. And righteously so.

A pair of smoldering emeralds was trained on him, noting his every move.

Aware he had been caught red handed, Harry abandoned all pretences and made a run for it. His triumph however, proved to be short lived. No matter how many times he tried or pulled, the handle wouldn't budge the slightest bit. Breathing deeply to calm himself, he turned just as a familiar white wand disappeared within the folds of Voldemort's robes.

What were his chances of getting to that wand?

Harry pressed back against the surface of the door, wishing he could shrink into it. "Unlock this door."

"Or…?" Voldemort prompted, the challenge in those eyes momentarily distracting Harry from taking notice of the man's deliberate strides towards him.

"Or nothing," he ground out, skin crawling as the space between them was slowly bridged. "I don't want any part in this."

"A shame, really." the Dark Lord braised himself, arms poised at either side of Harry's head, caging him in.

The static between their bodies felt almost tangible.

"Because it ceased being your choice the very instance you Vowed on your magic to surrender to me." A breathy whisper in his ear.

Harry shuddered, the hot puffs of air causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end.

"I didn't mean it in the literal sense of the word." he argued back, turning his head the other way for some sort of reprieve from that unrelenting stare only for his chin to be gripped harshly, depriving him of movement.

"It matters not. I own you, now and forever."

Seething by the mere prospect of that concept, Harry brought his arms up, smacking Voldemort's fingers away. "Hands off! It burns when you touch me."

"That's," His arms were suddenly pulled up and above his head, where Voldemort proceeded to slam them non too gently against the hard wood of the door and receiving a pained hiss from Harry, "because you keep resisting the pull of the bond." As if to further the Dark Lord's claim, a ring of flames was beginning to settle around his wrists, from where the sleeves of his outer robe had ridden low enough for the skin on skin contact to become unavoidable.

Nose scrunching up in discomfort, Harry tugged at them but when he only achieved to make Voldemort apply more pressure, one eyelid closed in a wince.

"Why do you insist on fighting when I am violating you already?" The man's free hand was hovering in front of his face now and once it lowered back down, his glasses were taken along, leaving his narrowed eyes on open display.

"Ye_sss_," Voldemort murmured lowly, a peculiar, rough lilt to his voice, "That's exactly the look." The corner of his mouth quirked sideways. "Who would have thought that ire would be so becoming on you, Harry?"

His gaze set into a glare, "Don't you _dare _cal-_mphhh!_"

Voldemort's tongue invaded his open mouth, the wet muscle instantly seeking out his own tongue and sweeping it into participation.

Harry moved bodily backwards, but with the solid surface on his back and Voldemort's other hand pulling at his hair to tilt his head upwards in a more suitable angle, there was little to nothing else he could do other than remain in place.

His stomach was performing such vicious flip flops that Harry felt nauseous.

Feeling his face unwittingly heating up under that unwavering stare he was being subjected to, Harry shut his eyes, hoping fiercely that by doing so he could pretend none of this was actually occurring. There was no deal struck between Light and Dark. They were still at war, fighting for their lives.

He really didn't know whether Voldemort had sensed his wandering mind, but the man's movements suddenly gained gusto.

The fingers entangled in his hair tugged rougher, the hand enclosed around his wrists constricted more and the intruding organ in his mouth turned aggressive, gliding over the roof of his mouth, proceeding to explore every inch of his cavern. It was like the other wizard wanted to possess Harry's every single thought.

Disoriented and a tad short on breath, he tried to tear his mouth away.

In response, Voldemort's tongue only plunged in deeper, rendering any acts of rebellion on his part useless. Harry was seriously starting to consider the possibility of the man being allergic to refusal.

When Voldemort deemed it acceptable to break the kiss, Harry felt like his lungs were seconds away from collapsing in on him.

Breathing sharply through the mouth, he finally took notice of how badly his legs were shaking; so much so he feared that should Voldemort release him now, they were bound to give out.

"When will you realize it is useless to run away from me?" Voldemort lapped at their combined saliva still lingering on his lips, taking captive his lower lip before withdrawing.

"Give up, Harry. Give in."

He felt trapped.

His mind was reeling, resolutely refusing to comprehend anything except how sinuous and _downright_ sensual his name had sounded.

God, what was wrong with him?

Voldemort was messing with his head already.

"Why did you ask for the ritual if you hate me that much?" he muttered, gaze dragging unconsciously to the scattered toys on the floor, "Was it to humiliate me? Is this your version of revenge for what I did to you that Halloween night?"

Voldemort chuckled, low and mirthless. "If I did hate you, I would have buried myself in you by now and be done with the matter entirely."

Harry shuddered.

"However, I am a considerate Lord and I will allow you the freedom of choice." The hold around his wrists strengthened when he failed to lift his gaze from the floor.

"Would you rather I take you right here, right now? Or would you prefer we move to your parents' bedroom? I'm certain the bed has been sustained soft."

His head jerked up as if it was tied to strings.

He stared aghast, unable to discern from Voldemort's face whether he was actually serious or if it was the wizard's morbid sense of humor talking.

A hand pushed apart his outer robe, running down the plane of his abdomen, the feathery light touches on his shirt covered skin phantom promises of what was soon to take place.

"Which do you prefer, Harry?"

He shivered despite himself, his ear tingling even when Voldemort's mouth was no longer there.

An image flashed in his mind, of him sprawled on the floor right on the spot his mother's lifeless body had been laying, cold and empty, with the Dark Lord straddling him and stripping him of his ceremonial clothes. The whole picture, but especially the background scene, was so violently sick that bile rose to the back of Harry's throat.

Just barely, he registered Voldemort's hand finally slipping away from his wrists, no longer pressing them against the door.

It was self-preservation really – one of the rare occurrences that the instinct decided to make itself known – that drove him into motion. He would surely lose whatever grasp he had managed to maintain so far on reality if a scenario like that played out.

His arm shot out, grasping Voldemort's own, and for a moment he was left staring at it as though it was another person's limb and not his.

Feeling rather than seeing the weight of the Dark Lord's gaze on him, he lifted his head, "Anywhere…" he relented, the admission cutting through him like a knife, "but here."

The smile Voldemort bestowed upon him could only be described as feral, "And the magic word?" he urged, face inching closer.

Harry drew in a shaky breath, making to let go of that arm.

The Dark Lord's steely stare made him reconsider.

Eyelids fluttering close in what felt suspiciously like resignation, he was way too worn out to care, Harry allowed a small reprieve to his aching head before reopening them, green instantly clashing with green.

"…Please." he breathed against those lips, hoping that the strangled sob was smothered by the mouth that covered his.

And as he felt the usual tugging sensation behind his navel, he wondered if he had reached bottom yet. How farther could one possibly fall?

**END OF CHAPTER THREE**

**So, I've got an idea and I would like to hear your opinions.**

**How about adding in some one sided Draco/Harry? How does that sound?**

**I've been toying with the idea for a while but I don't know yet if I'll actually go for it. My one and only will always be Voldemort/Harry or Tom/Harry.**


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